Agatha H and the Voice of the Castle

“AHAHAHAHA!!” he cackled. “I win again, you wind-up pile of rubble!” The others looked at him suspiciously. Von Mekkhan’s voice was shriller than before, with traces of the Castle still evident. Apparently the effects of the connection took a while to wear off.

Agatha looked concerned. “Are…” She glanced at the holes in the man’s head. “Are you all right?”

“Of course!” the old man crowed. “The Castle can’t hold me, by damn! That’s why it’s my job!” His hands snapped out and gripped Agatha’s arms. “And you! You made it back down! Magnificent!” He gave another peal of laughter.

Agatha frowned. “You don’t…sound all right.”

The old man rolled his eyes alarmingly. “Oh yessss. So I’ve been told. Our contest is not pleasant, but it is invigorating! But don’t worry, the effects will fade all too soon!” With that he dissolved into another bout of high-pitched giggles.

Agatha thought about patting him on the arm and then changed her mind. “Um… good. So, was there something you had to tell me?”

Carson stopped his laugher as if someone had flipped a switch. “Oh yes. I won, I get to tell you. Ahem. Lady Heterodyne!” The old man grabbed his hat and Agatha’s arm and began dragging her back up the stairway. “We must get to the outer walls! An army is advancing upon the Black Gate!”

Gilgamesh stared out over the smooth, flat plain before Mechanicsburg. It was covered by a pleasant counterpane of neat fields planted with a wide variety of crops. Many of these were in their full summer growth, gently rippling in the breeze that skirled down from the surrounding mountains. It was a bit of an anomaly, really. Gil had studied a fair bit of civil engineering and had observed any number of towns as they underwent successive cycles of peace and strife. During peacetime, walled cities tended to expand. Secondary industries and agricultural stores would accumulate outside the city walls, along with the hovels of beggars and other squatters. Over time these temporary residents built more and more elaborate structures and engaged in practices that required the watch to be sent out often enough that it became a de facto part of the town. This was how towns grew.

But Mechanicsburg was different—as it was in so many other things. Inside the wall was a bustling, vibrant community, but once outside the walls, all was pastoral. Low hedgerows and farms stretched to the feet of the encircling mountains. The tallest structures were the evenly spaced picket towers standing quiet and deserted amongst the fields. The lower slopes of the mountains were covered in orchards, store houses, and obviously planned lumber groves.

Gil nodded in approval.

Behind him he could hear the shouts of the minions and mechanics setting up his newest creation. He had set them to installing it even before he had visited his father. A crackling hum and a burst of satisfied murmuring amongst the technicians let him know that the devices were beginning to be activated. Excellent.

He then turned to the spot from which there had been absolutely no sound at all.

“Captain Vole.”

The huge Jäger stood painfully at attention. The parade-ground perfection of his stance only emphasized the disheveled state of his outfit.²⁷ “Sir,” he began, “I—”

Gil cut him off. “—Did not bring me Agatha Heterodyne. Yes, I noticed.”

“Sir. She attacked me, sir.”

Gil ran an eye over the Jäger’s outfit. “With a deadly coffeepot, apparently.” He locked eyes with the Jäger. “Now, why would she do that?”

Vole opened his mouth. “Because I tried to kill her, sir,” was a poor excuse on any number of levels, so he closed his mouth.

“I told you to bring her to me,” Gil reiterated, “and yet here you are, dirty, injured, and quite, quite alone. I’ve been told about you, Vole. I know what happened.”

The Jäger let out a breath and waited for death.

“You went stomping in there and tried to arrest her, didn’t you?”

Vole blinked. “I—vot?”

Gil nodded. “You underestimated her and she bested you! She’s a Heterodyne! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Vole realized that whatever intelligence the young Wulfenbach had received about him, it hadn’t been very good. “Yez,” he ventured. “Hit does mean someting to me. Next time Hy vill be ready for her.”

Gil turned away. “I doubt it. But it is no longer your concern.”

“No!” Vole stepped forward. This chance couldn’t be allowed to pass. “Hy vill get more troops and—”

“No.” Gil was frequently grateful to his father for teaching him the art of cutting people off before their tirade could gather steam. “I had wanted you to bring Agatha here so I could help protect her. But considering how easily she beat you—” Vole’s teeth ground together audibly—“I am forced to accept the idea that Agatha can take care of herself for a while. I’m not particularly happy leaving it at that, but apparently I have little choice.” Vole twitched. “Right now the fake Heterodyne is the problem.”